Crime Scene
by Ed419
Summary: Rocco DeSantis is a mafia hit man living in Philly. He's on top of the world until he is summoned to a meeting that will change his life and the world forever. This is a work in progress in a format I am not used to. Please bear with me and all feedback is appreciated. The book contains graphic language and violence.


Crime Scene

8/22/12

**Crime Scene**

Chapter 1:

No Convictions

Yeah, so I'm sittin' in this courtroom right? I ain't worried though. I been arrested seventeen times and ain't never been convicted once. I mean that's a good record y'know? Know why I ain't ever been convicted? 'Cause I'm smart about things. I don't involve nobody else in my business and I don't ever do things when I'm angry. This one is tricky though. This one just might get me sent up maybe. I wasn't so smart on this one but this guy really pissed me off. The stuff this piece of shit was doing was really bad. I didn't give a shit about whackin' him at all but the girl was different. I felt bad about her but what am I gonna do huh? I can't leave no witnesses even if they do promise not to talk. Ha! A promise not to talk. That promise is good until the cops call on you. No, I did the right thing by puttin' her down too, I just feel bad that I had to do it y'know?

_All around the small time hood the courtroom buzzed. Reporters talked among themselves in hushed tones and would often run out to the phones to send in another tidbit of information. The room itself was staid and formal as courtrooms tend to be and the big windows let in far less light that one would imagine and the room smelled of cigarettes, pencil lead, and leather. The big desk at the end of the room where the judge sat was vacant now and the bailiffs all looked around bored with the delay. At the lower right-hand side of the judge's desk sat a pretty young stenographer who blushed profusely as Rocky blew her a kiss and winked. It didn't stop her from flashing a suggestive smile back in his direction. In the back of the room sat three men, who took in the carnival-like atmosphere with much distain. Rocky glimpsed at them and dismissed them as federal agents and therefor pests. His disrespect for law enforcement of any kind was always evident and something that came quite naturally to him._

My lawyer keeps givin' me the thumbs up sign. He's another piece of shit. No, look at him. That's a fuckin' three hundred dollar suit for Christ's sake! And guess who the fuck is payin' for it. His name is Gregory P. Garandi and he handles y'know, my kind almost exclusively. What's my kind mean? Well, a tough guy, a wise guy…y'know, someone connected.

I don't like to talk about it with strangers but I been connected for a long time now. My old man was connected and my grandfather too back in the old country. He was a big shot there but had to leave so he came to America and went to work for Al Capone. Yeah, the big man himself, Al Capone. Sometime after prohibition ended the old man killed someone and relocated to Philly. He liked it here and stayed, got married and started his own regime. He had everything goin' here the old man did. Prostitution, gamblin', loansharking, and even a good little numbers racket. When my father was old enough the old man had him runnin numbers all over the place y'know? That's how my father learned how to score and then when I was old enough they both started me the same way.

_No other business could boast the same family traditions as organized crime could. Fathers would groom their sons to follow them at an early age. When Rocky was only five years old his grandfather was already explain how to use an icepick and why it was important to soak the shotgun pellets in garlic before you loaded them. Bankers could never say that ninety-nine percent of their sons become bankers. No, wiseguys and cops were the only groups that could claim that. Even the cops couldn't keep up with the wiseguys!_

Hustles here, hustles there…pretty soon I was makin my own scores too. Little things y'know, like sellin' smokes at school when I went, even a little loansharkin' too. I took bets on the games and money lendin' just went right along with that. Even had my own crew back then. I had Big Bobby Gianco and his brother Humpy. We called him Humpy cause the guy would bang anything that had a skirt. He didn't care how ugly or fat they were, he was bangin' them if he could. Then there was Ronnie the Mizz named that cause he was a miserable son of a bitch and Sal Provo the baker's son. His full name was Provenzano and his father could bake shit that would make you cry. The five of us had a nice racket goin' at school and even had a couple teachers on the payroll. Then one day the cops show up and they grab Mizz and he has all the fuckin' bet slips in his pocket. What a fuckin idiot!

_A fourth man entered the room and spoke briefly to the other three men. His arms were animate and several times he pointed behind him in Rocky's general direction. The scene didn't go unnoticed by Rocky either. In fact, even though he appeared to be a loud-mouth rambling "chooch" as he would be so quick to call others, he rarely missed anything happening around him. When the three men stood and the one in the middle shot him a look of contempt he noticed that too. He quickly pointed the man out to his lawyer who looked at the man and back to Rocky shaking his head no. The man was well dressed, maybe too well dressed for a federal agent as Rocky had thought at first. They filed out of the door but before he left he gave one more look to Rocky who now followed him with keen eyes. The smirk on the man's face seemed to speak volumes to Rocky. If it worried him, it certainly didn't show in Rocky's face as he continued his story._

Turns out they was watchin us for about three months and the only one they had was Mizz but the little bitch ratted us all out. That's when I learned that partners was trouble. And where I learned to read people. The way people are speaks loud if ya know how to hear it. Like Mizz was just what his name said right? A miserable bastid. That kinda person don't give a fuck who he drags down with him and that's just what he did…dragged us all down with him. Spent a year in Juvey Hall and that's the last time I ever looked through bars.

So y'know, I don't got no partners now. I mean who needs the aggravation y'know? If I do somethin' and the cops get wise I know I ain't gonna tell them I did it. They gotta prove I did it and with nobody to rat me out, then that just leaves bein' caught red handed. That's how you make it through life with no convictions. You gotta excuse me now. The jury is comin' back in and I gotta look like I'm sorry and repentful.

_The bailiff called the "All Rise" that told the people in the room the judge was on his way back in. He was an older man, probably close to seventy. His hair had gone past grey and into white now and his tall lanky frame was starting to bend. He sat down and lit a cigarette and motioned for the jury to come back. He never once even looked in Rocky's direction. Gregory P. Garandi smiled a broad smile that highlighted his gold tooth. The twelve people filed from a door on the opposite side of the one the judge had entered. There were nine men and three women and they all kept their heads down as they filed past the prosecutor's table. Rocky smiled and relaxed back into his chair. Fifteen minutes later Rocky stood in the back of the courtroom accepting handshakes from people as if he had just won a primary or an acting award. I could venture to say that this verdict was indeed like an acting award in some ways. Once outside the five other wiseguys who attended the trial to make sure Rocky did things the way they were supposed to do them clapped him on the back and ushered him to his car and a night of celebrating._

Chapter 2:

Clean Record

_The newspaper headline said it all; __**Rocky DeSantos Walks Again! **__Just as he had predicted, there was just not enough evidence to convict him. He left the courtroom a free man once more and immediately went to see the Don as a sign of respect and then it was off to a celebration at the Latin Casino across the river in Jersey. The small nightclub was famous among Philadelphians as a place where legends got their starts. Sinatra, Martin, Prima…all good Italian boys who made the Philly mob proud as they grew in popularity. _

_ Inside, the club was small and smelled of cigarettes, cigars, and whiskey. Rocky leaned against the bar deep in conversation with another man who did not seem happy about what Rocky was saying. They were both dressed in typical fashion of the day, black suits with white, open-collared shirts and the ever present pinky ring. Rocky was now poking a finger in the other man's chest before sending the man off with a wave of his hand. I had to suppress a smile when Rocky leaned in close to the man, whispered something and then stood back and watched the color drain from the man's face. It was like watching a cat who just found a mouse in the middle of the kitchen and too far from his little safe mouse hole. I ordered a seven and seven and waited for Rocky to finish with his new plaything._

Yo! How you doin' huh? Didn't I tell you I was gettin' off? What did I tell you…no partner, no rat and no conviction. Now I got all these goddamned leech reporters breakin' my balls. Like I got time to bullshit with them. Let's get outta here. I got some business to handle but we can talk while I drive.

That's my car over there. Nice huh? I was gonna buy a Caddy y'know but why draw attention to yourself. Some of the other guys they got these long fuckin' Caddies or the Benzes but that just tells people hey look at me I got somethin' shady goin' on. I don't need the aggravation y'know?

_Becoming a gangster was just like becoming a doctor. You had to learn how to do things properly or someone would possibly die. Only with gangster school it was all on-the-job-training and failing grades were much harsher. Every wiseguy knew that the cops were always watching you so you never try to draw attention to yourself. And the number one rule with cops is you also don't get cheap when they come around to collect._

_Rocky talked about when he was a little kid. Every Friday afternoon his grandfather would put two nice fifty dollar bills in an envelope and hand it to him. He would then dutifully walk over to a high back upholstered chair and slip the envelope between the side and the cushion. At five o'clock Sgt. Brennan would visit the house and sit in that chair and talk for a while with the old man. When he left the envelope would be gone and the card game that night would be safe. Other wiseguys would come to the house and ask and my grandfather assured them he had paid "that fuckin' Irish pig cop" and that it was indeed a fine night to gamble. You didn't have to like them…but you had to pay them. It was just smart business._

I gotta go see a guy now to pick up some stuff he's holding for me. Like I said before, I don't like getting' too deep with strangers so we're just gonna leave it at that ok? There ya go. Sometimes people wanna stick their nose where it don't belong like that piece of shit I was talking to at the bar. That fat bastid was tryin' to tell me the broad who got in my way, her father is connected. But I never heard of him so what kinda bullshit is he tryin' to pull y'know?

He tells me he can fix things with the guy, make everything ok if I just ante up as a show of respect. I said "respect who you fuck", like I'm gonna just give this monkey my money. So he tells me this chick…what the fuck was her name…yeah, this Gina Capallo, her old man is some big shot from New York. But I know most of the New York guys and I never heard that name before. I think he's just tryin to scam me…whatta you think? Yeah, fuck him…he's fulla shit.

OK, you wait here while I go pick up this stuff. Maybe next time I'll bring you and introduce you. Sit tight and don't fuck with the radio. I'll be right back.

_ Greasing the cops didn't just protect you from raids and arrests. Not at all…it could also get you information. Like who was Gina Capallo and more importantly, who was her father. The man Rocky was talking to in the dimly lit hallway of the nice house wasn't another wiseguy; he was a former FBI agent who could still call in favors. Like the one he was handing to Rocky in the big brown envelope for which Rocky handed him back a smaller white envelope. Pensions were nice to have but they didn't pay all the bills. Having friends who needed information from time to time and handed thick envelopes over for it were also nice to have. I watched as Rocky opened the envelope and looked at the photograph inside. He spoke for another few minutes to the agent before heading back to the car. _ _The news came on the radio with the same headline as the newspaper. "Rocky DeSantos escapes prosecution due to lack of evidence" said the cheerful-voiced announcer. "The racketeer was found…_

Fuck that shit! That's why I keep the radio low so I don't gotta hear all those reporters trying to tell people what I'm like y'know. What do they know? You know I donate a hundred bucks to cancer research month? My mother died of it God rest her. The woman was a saint and she caught that shit and it killed her. It was the fuckin' cigarettes. You don't smoke do ya? Good, I don't either. Heh…I got enough things to worry about tryin' to kill me. I don't need to add cigarettes to the list.

They know all about those donations. They don't write about that in the papers do they? No, it's always "Rocky killed this guy and Rocky killed that guy…" It's all bullshit. I bet they would shit if I showed up at their friggin house one night. They would….Hey! See that guy over there? He owes me money…hold on. Wait here I'll be right back.

_Rocky's mind worked like a tightly wound steel spring. Tense and hard and liable to unwind at any moment. His actions matched that deliciously wicked mind perfectly. He had mental files of every person he knew and everything he needed to know about them. Did he owe them anything? Did they owe him anything? Those were the two categories that all his files fell under. In the mob that's how it works. You're either due or you owe. It's not only money either. It could be different things…favors, respect, information. This particular owe just happened to be money and when Rocky drove a hard right fist into the man's mid-section the loan was paid quickly. The night was getting cloudy and the car was stopped under some wires that seemed to be everywhere in Philly. They interfered with the radio but the news still came through somewhat legibly; "In other news there was a double homicide in the Roxborough section of the city. Police are baffled as to how the killer or killers were able to gun down the two people as they ate at an outdoor….."_

Chapter 3:

A Mechanic

_Rocky was the go to man in Philadelphia for the local family there. But he was much more than that; he was what was known in the underworld as a mechanic. A mechanic is a guy who has perfected the art of murder. Rocky could whack a whole room full of people and have all their death's listed as "natural causes". What most people don't realize is that for every grisly hit that leaves a bullet riddled corpse on the front page of the local paper to shock the citizenry, five other hits go down without anybody aware that they were hits. Not every corpse the mafia is responsible for is meant to be a loud message. Most are not even supposed to be whispered about. _

_Rocky was based in Philly and was part of the family there but he was an open commodity for families all over the country and even overseas. This made him a very dangerous individual for anybody to be involved with but it was also the reason he was tolerating me around. Even though he despised having partners the family in Dallas insisted I accompany him on their job. I just hoped that this bleak, wet and cold Tuesday morning would have the decency to be over with quickly. Even though I was part of the Dallas family I had grown up in Brooklyn and one thing I didn't miss were these East Coast winters. I wondered if I should have told Rocky about that…or if he already knew._

So whatta you think of Philly so far? It's a great town, not too small y'know, and definitely not too big like L.A. is. We're gonna be heading there by Friday but I gotta finish something I had on the back burner here. Take a look at these pictures. That fat fuck there is named Ernesto Giavonne…Ernie the Pearl…to his friends. Yeah, those "friends" need him out of the picture now. They tried to do it nicely but he didn't get the hint so now I gotta give him one last hint.

I been watching this fuck for three months now y'know and I finally got a pattern. Every Tuesday morning when he's collecting in South Philly he stops at this diner at the crack of dawn. That's why I hadda get youse outta bed so early. He should be here in twenty minutes so if you wanna grab a coffee I would suggest doing it now…in twenty-five minutes there ain't gonna be a diner here anymore.

Hey! Don't order no toast!

_I decided to take advantage of my window of opportunity and slipped out of the long black Buick LeSaber that Rocky drove and shuffled into the diner. The very loud waitress was asking what I wanted before I even got a foot inside the door. "Two coffees" I mumbled as I looked around the one-elegant diner. The walls that had once boasted authentic murals of life in Italy now boasted plastered patches of life in Italy. I could see past the smoke rising from the stove and watched the short, balding cook dropping row after row of bacon onto the grille, preparing for the breakfast crowd that would run in for their morning sandwich and coffee before scurrying to their humdrum jobs. _

_As the cook moved around I watched the half a cigarette ash that hung from the burning cigarette perched between his lips, amazed at how long it defied gravity before giving way and falling onto the bacon sizzling below it. With a deft swipe it was gone and the smoky flavor of the bacon would taste a bit like a Marlboro but who would complain. I hurried out of the building as soon as the loud waitress took my cash. She had a big nametag on that said "Millie" in bright green letters. Too fucking bright for this time of the morning. The bill was $2.50 and I tossed her a ten dollar bill and a hearty "keep the change" as I ran out. I felt better that she would be smiling right before her last breaths would be drawn._

Thanks for the coffee kid. Now just sit back and watch the show. In five minutes a silver Coup DeVille is gonna come in the lot from that street over there. Our fat fuck friend Ernesto is gonna drag his sorry ass outta that car, go inside that diner and sit at the booth right outside of the kitchen door. That old bitch Millie will take his order…peppers and eggs on a plate with light toast…and she'll go in and give that order to the cook. He'll drop the peppers on the grill and then the eggs and then he'll drop the toast. And when he pushes that toaster button down…BADDA BOOM!…no more fucking problems from Ernesto no more.

I been watching. He's always the first customer to grab food. And I was in last night and wired the toaster. The whole thing is gonna look like the propane tanks right behind the wall where fucko is sitting blew. Bad wiring caused a spark y'know. That's what it'll say in the papers tomorrow along with three people dead. No big names right away, not until the dental records are used to identify what's left of Ernesto. By then it'll be old news and maybe the cops might think it's a hit but there won't be any evidence and the newspapers won't care.

That's just the way things go y'know. Sometimes life ain't fair but the way I look at it, this fuck had to go so either I do it and pocket the fifteen grand or some other guy does. I got a right to earn money, right? What the fuck, he ain't gonna be alive either way so I might as well make something off of him showing up dead.

Hey hey! Here comes our guy now. This is gonna be good…

_As the big Buick glided past the rushing fire engines I thought about how excited Rocky became as the hit drew closer and closer. I knew what my people were going to ask him to do and I knew that if he took the contract he would have to curb that enthusiasm or he wouldn't live to see the end of the day. I also knew what they would offer him. I wondered if he had any morals at all that might prevent him from taking the job. After all, one million bucks could carry a man far in 1962. Providing he lived long enough to collect it._

_ As fucked up as it sounds I was beginning to like Rocky. He was as colorful as anybody I had ever met and we even shared a few thoughts on how to live life. I would hate to have to put the big guy in his grave over something so stupid. As we rushed through the quiet morning streets I turned the radio up just a bit to hear the previous night's news…"yet another shooting. The police now think the assailant could be a serial killer as ballistics have shown the same weapon used in the past four deaths. Repeating our top story, another man killed as he eats at an outdoor café. Police in Northeast Philadelphia confirmed another shooting…."_

Chapter 4:

Richard Who?

Hey Kid…maybe when this meeting is done you can come back with me and gimme a hand with somethin' I gotta fix huh? I got info on that broad's father. I never heard of the guy cause he ain't named Capallo. Seems her real father was named Capallo and he _was_ connected but then he got himself whacked before she was a year old. Her mother remarried some guy named Richard Stockdale. Some bigshot Wall Street guy who thinks he owns the fuckin world. So now word is out that he's gonna get me for puttin the girl in a hole. Not that he gives a fuck about her but because her mother was so upset. So now Old Dick thinks he can put me down…'cept I'm puttin him down first. He picked the wrong fuckin guy to play his bullshit games with y'know.

_Rocky shocked me by asking for my help but of course I accepted. Dallas had gotten boring and to be honest I was starting to miss the flavor of the old Italian neighborhoods. Philly, Brooklyn, up in Boston…all Italian neighborhoods are the same. The people, the smells from the markets and delis, just the way you feel there. Dallas was nice but it wasn't Italian. I was still wondering how the fuck our friends even got a toe hold there to start with._

_ That's a common thing among our people, wiseguys, not Italians. We never refer to our organization…which doesn't exist by the way…or the people in it as anything other than "our friends". That's why the feds have so much trouble in courts. They try to tie us to the Mafia or Cosa Nostra but if you're an outsider, we don't exist. When we're introduced to someone new it will always be through a third party who will vouch for them by saying "This is so and so…he's a friend of ours." If I don't hear that, then whoever it is ain't no part of us. That's how the Don introduced me to Rocky…as a friend. So the Don himself vouched for me to Rocky._

_ The black Buick glided through the small streets of the city heading towards the sprawling swamplands just outside the city. We crossed a small bridge that was surrounded by huge, dirty oil tanks and then once over that, the entire processing center. The smell of crude oil being converted to heating oil and auto oil and gas was sickening but Rocky never rolled his window up._

We got a flight booked to the meet in L.A. tomorrow at ten AM. I figure I'll pick you up at eight to give us plenty of time. I tried to get a non-stop but that wasn't happenin'. We got a two hour layover in Chicago and then on to L.A. We should land around five our time. Plenty of time to get to the hotel, grab some food and then get to the meet.

Maybe somewhere between now and then you can tell me what this "Operation Mongoose" bullshit is and why I gotta sit with three of the biggest names in our business _and_ the fuckin FBI and CIA. When I found out Giancana and Trafficante was gonna be there I had to say yes just to see what the fuck was goin on. I think I got an idea but why the fuck Gambino is involved I have no idea. Maybe I can take advantage of him bein' there and get him to handle that fuck on Wall Street for me y'know.

_Rocky shocked the crap outta me when he said "Operation Mongoose". How the fuck could he have found out about that, and more importantly, if he could find out then who else could? I could feel his eyes burning into me, even more uncomforting than the toxic fumes that were drifting into his open window. I was gonna just let it go but fuck no, I wanted to know how he had found out._

"_Operation Mongoose was over a year ago Rock. It ended with that fucked up Bay of Pigs invasion. Hey Rock, I gotta know…how did you find out all this information?"_

"I pay the right people kid. But since they gave me bullshit information maybe I gotta go get a refund y'know."

"_It's not completely bullshit. They just used the old codename, but Giancana and Trafficante are gonna be there. Alls I can say Rock is that this shit is big and if I tell you more and the old man finds out I'll end up in a dumpster. You understand, right?"_

_ When Rocky nodded in agreement my heart slowly returned from my mouth to where it was supposed to be. I decided that none of the big three needed to know that Rocky had found out so much through his contacts. As far as I was concerned he never even asked me anything about the meeting. I was suddenly aware of how fucked up everything was and how if shit hit the fan it was gonna splash all over me. I really didn't need this bullshit in my life._

_ Rocky abruptly turned the Buick around and headed back towards the city. I watched the neighborhoods roll past and took in all the sights, sounds, and smells of ninth street, the market district. I watched the old greaseball vendors hawking their fish and vegetables, the bakers loading breads and pastries into their trucks and thought how Philly wasn't a bad place to be after all. Right now it was a helluva lot better than Dallas or L.A. If me and Rocky made our way outta this alive, maybe I would just come back here…after all, mechanic ain't a bad trade to know._

Hey Vinnie…I know a great place for coffee and they got these great cannoli's. Let's go grab some and maybe hit the Latin tonight, see if we can grab some cooze before we go to L.A. Just in case y'know…I don't wanna get to hell horny. My luck they'll put me in the no-fuckin section!

Chapter 5

Vinnie

_The bright November sun shone through Rocky's window with a vengeance, its heat bellying the cold temperature outside. The sheets moved next to him and he remembered the girl from the club he took home last night. As his eyes adjusted to the light he looked at her through eyes less clouded with smoke and booze and in much better lighting._

_ She wasn't all that bad, maybe a bit too much makeup. Or maybe it just seemed that way as the rough and tumble night before had caused it to streak down from under her eyes giving her an almost raccoon-like appearance. She lifted a heavy eyelid and smiled._

"_Want me to get dressed?" she asked in a sultry voice._

"Nah. I gotta get on my way. You relax and lock up when you go. Here's an extra key. I'll call youse when I get back."

_Rocky watched as the woman turn over, her ample breasts still uncovered. She wasn't half-bad and that was good enough for him. If he made it back he would call her and see where it went. His time in the business was coming to an end soon and why not retire in style with a classy broad like Sophia? It sure as hell beat hanging out at the park with the other old greaseballs and playing pinochle and bocce ball all day._

Yo Vinnie! Let's get a move on here. It's 8 o'clock! Shake that broad outta the bed and get dressed. It don't look good if you make the Don wait y'know. Maybe when we get to Chicago we can grab somethin' to eat at the Pump Room. Last time I was in Chicago I went there. Humphrey Bogart used to hang there whenever he was in the city and on that night he was there with Bacall and they got married. What a hot lookin dish she was…way too hot for that mumble-mouth prick.

C'mon kid, let's get movin. Oh there ya are. Yo, what the fuck happened to you last night? One minute I see you with that hot little blond at the bar and then you were gone. I hope you got some 'cause she had a cute ass…

_Of course, just as he said that she came out of the bedroom behind me. Rocky being Rocky didn't miss a beat. He greeted her with a big smile and a cheerful good morning. See, the thing about Rocky was that he was actually charming when he wanted to be. You could talk to him all night and never once guess how he made a living._

_ She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and laughed as she slipped through the door with Rocky yelling "what about me?" behind her. As soon as the door shut his demeanor reverted back to his usual intense look. I could tell he wasn't sure about this trip, like he was afraid it was a hit. I tried to assure him it wasn't but he still didn't know me well enough._

_ For that matter, you don't know me either. Since Rocky conked out the minute we got on the plane lemme tell you who I am. My name is Vinnie Collasimo from Brooklyn. Well, used to be from Brooklyn but now from that shithole Dallas. Like Rocky, my old man and his old man have been connected since forever. My main job is collections back in Dallas but my old Cappo from Brooklyn called me back for this job._

_ What's a Cappo? OK, it goes like this. The old timers wanted to model the crime families like the old romans. They structured the families with soldiers like me and Rocky on the bottom. Then in charge of them were the Cappos or Caporegime. Depending on how many crews or groups of soldiers there were, a family could have three or more Cappos. After the Cappos come the Underboss. This is the guy that the don places most of his trust in and usually the guy who eventually kills him or has it done._

_ After the underboss comes the big guy, the Don. Don is a term of respect like Americans saying sir. It signifies a gentleman or nobleman. Next to him is his Consigliere or counselor. It's his job to advise the Don on matters of business. He is also called on to settle family disputes. After this comes the commission. This is like a gathering of the families and there is one Capo di Tutti Capi or boss of bosses. Much like the Consigliere he settles disputes between families._

_ Now besides all this we have a full shitload of "associates" at our disposal. These are people who work for us but are not part of us. Some of them are prospective members but most are people who will never ever get a chance to be in this thing of ours. _

_ Looks like we're about to land in Chicago. If I got the time maybe I'll explain more for ya later. Hey Rocky…wake up paisan, we're in Chicago._

Chapter 6:

One Helluva Town

Welcome to Chicago Kid. It ain't Philly but it ain't bad y'know. Somebody should write a song about it. We got just over two hours before we load up again…no time to really see anything. That's a shame cause they got some good stuff here too. They got Wrigley Field and the Cubbies, they got the stock yards, they got some great jazz clubs…you like jazz?...I like it sometimes. They got the good nightclubs here too and they got…

Carmine Palumbo…you old fat fuck whatta you doin here? Don't tell me they sent for you too. Carmine, this is Vinnie…he's a friend of ours. He's like the messenger that got stuck with delivering me y'know. So sit down and tell me what's up on your end.

_Carmine Palumbo could have been Rocky's brother, they looked that much alike. I knew he wasn't comfortable talking around me even though Rocky vouched for me but fuck it, I wanted to know what was going on too. Maybe I had been around Rocky too long but suddenly I was not feeling so secure anymore either. Maybe this was a hit and I was the patsy…and as such, I would have to join Rocky in the no-fuck section of hell too._

_ Turns out Carmine was a mechanic like Rocky was and based out of Buffalo. He was called to the meeting as well but nobody had to go get him. It made me wonder why they felt Rocky needed an escort. Yeah, I been around him too long…now my head was all full of suspicion too. My head couldn't stop thinking of set-up scenarios and how to get out of them if need be. That's how I spent my time waiting for the connecting flight while the two older guys spoke. A sudden serious tone in Rocky finally snapped me back…_

Jesus fuckin Christ Carmine…don't make it obvious but look over your left shoulder and tell me if that's who I think it is.

_Carmine took his time and started to adjust his shoe, allowing himself a good look at the man standing by the water fountain. His eyes quickly shot back to Rocky who kept his head immersed in a newspaper now._

"_Jackie Riggollo…you're right Rock!" he replied. "What the fuck does that rat bastard have to do with this? If he's in, I'm out!"_

Fuck this! He ain't in cause he ain't getting on that plane. Next time he goes into the bathroom he don't come out. I don't give a fuck who called for him, he ain't getting involved with anything I'm doin. Vinnie…go find out when the next plane to L.A. is. Listen up Carmine…this is what we're gonna do.

_"The next flight to Los Angeles doesn't depart until 9:50 tomorrow morning sir. Is there a problem?"_

"_No problem sweetheart. Everything works out fine. Thanks."_

_ Rocky was happy as a pig in shit when I told him and he and Carmine kept an eagle eye on the man they called Jackie Riggollo. I glanced at him every so often and could almost see why the other two men didn't want him around. His actions were jerky and nervous and the fact that he sweat like a pig and chain smoked didn't exactly paint an endearing picture either. I tapped Rocky's foot with mine and nodded as the man started walking towards the bathroom._

"Let's go Carmine. That fuck don't get on this plane! We follow the plan and nobody knows what happened y'know. He got mugged is all…happens to a million people every day."

Me and Carmine followed Jackie into the men's room and for a change everything was lookin good. The room stunk of cigarettes and piss but once the old fuck washing his hands left the room was empty. I looked under the stall doors and I seen he was in the furthest one from the door. Perfect!

The old guy left and Carmine locked the door behind him and shut the light. I heard Jackie doin his bullshit tough guy act askin' who the fuck shut the light and they better not fuck with him. The jerk off started talkin' about how connected he was without even knowing who was outside the stall. This is why he wasn't getting' on the plane…shit like this.

The stall door opened and I punched that fuck in his face as hard as I could. He was too busy rushing out like an asshole so I knew he never saw me. I looked in the stall and saw him back on the seat, head back and lights out. Yeah Baby, TKO in the first…fuck you asshole.

_Ten minutes later Rocky and Carmine exited the room and hung an "Out of Service" sign on it. Inside was the unconscious body of Jackie Riggollo, bloodied, gagged, and penniless. Rocky took his tickets, his wallet, and even stuffed his shoes into the toilet under him. When we finally got on the plane he had the same look I'd seen high school bullies with after they gave the class nerd the best swirly ever._

_ Apparently this Jackie was also a made man and that's why he was still alive. That means he couldn't be hit without the approval of the Don or the Consigliere otherwise, they would find you floating face down in a river somewhere. Most guys respected this law and the ones who didn't had better make damn sure nobody would ever find out what they had done. Places like Dallas or Vegas were easier to do that stuff than back home or Philly because of the better areas to stash the bodies. In a city they always seem to resurface._

_ I wondered how pissed he would be when he finally got out of that bathroom. The sign sounded a soft ding letting everybody know the plane was good and you could relax again. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes…next stop was L.A. and it better stand for lots of answers._

Chapter 7:

No Way!

_We walked down the tunnel towards the lobby of the airport stopping to grab our bags. All against the pale, sandy colored walls stood drivers holding placards with the names of those they were there to pick up. Some had signs that had the company name on them. I smirked at the thought of seeing some guy standing there with a sign that said "Fucking Wiseguys". I knew there would be no sign for us but that we would know who our driver was nonetheless. My eyes scanned the line of cars outside and settled on a white Caddy with the top down. The upholstery was a bright red and the ever-present cross hung from the mirror. It looked like a holy whore-house on wheels._

Yo Vinnie! You need a special invitation? Stop daydreamin' and get in the car so we can get the fuck outta this sun! This morning I was in the winter and now I'm back in the middle of the fucking summer. I'm gonna get sick from this shit!

_Rocky didn't say much of anything else during the drive out to the house in the hills overlooking Hollywood. The well-manicured streets with perfectly placed palm trees disappeared as the car moved higher and were replaced by a more wild shrubbery look. The houses grew further apart from each other as well until we turned into a cul-de-sac that had a single house at the far end. Huge wrought-iron gates protected the entrance of the driveway and the half dozen guys holding machine guns and shotguns only helped add to the "Trespassers Not Welcome" feel. Rocky let out a low whistle as the car drove through the gates and headed towards the mansion that loomed about 500 yards ahead._

Momma mia, would you look at this fuckin' place! I wonder if Marilyn Monroe is gonna be here? This looks like some movie star lives here. Ahhh, Giancana was always a splashy guy y'know. This don't surprise me. Yo Vinnie, look at the crew waitin' outside will ya. Any of them look familiar to you?

_I shook my head no as I paused and looked over each face. More than ever I was nervous about this but then again, what kinda sick fuck would go through this much bullshit just to whack someone?_

It was a beautiful picture, y'know. The sun was shinin', the breeze smelled like the ocean, the house was somethin outta "Better Homes"…so why was I so fucking nervous? It might have been all the fuckin' government guys outside. They always made me nervous 'cause they were sneaky fucks, the whole bunch of them. They had no fuckin honor or respect.

It might have been the secrecy of the whole thing too. I never liked secrets especially when it came to my work y'know. I got too much to worry about as it is without wondering what the guy who commissioned me is thinking. When the Don calls you in he tells you what he wants done and _why_ he wants it done. There's no bullshit. Straight up talking about a problem man to man.

These government bitches don't do that. They always have hidden agendas and use fuckin codenames and words like collateral damage. Collateral damage means if you got whacked, so what.

_We got escorted into the house and it was just as classy and picture perfect inside as it was outside. The guys that took us in brought us to a huge room that had a pool table at one end and a fully stocked bar in the middle. They told us to have a seat and that the meeting would start shortly. Rocky whispered something to Carmine and they both had a good laugh at the expense of the man who led us in. He shot the pair a nasty look that only made them laugh harder. When he stopped at the door and looked as if he might turn back into the room Rocky stood up._

Yeah c'mon ya fuck. You got a fuckin' problem? Lemme know 'cause I'm great at fixin' fuckin' problems. Especially problems like you!

_As the two men drew closer a door at the far end opened and a man stepped through followed by three other men. He was dressed in a plain black suit but the other three had far better taste in clothes. I knew automatically who they were…Sam Giancana, Santo Trafficante, and Carlo Gambino. With them were several other men, Spanish I think, and more of the government guys._

_ After a few harsh words by the head guy and a slightly disturbed look from Giancana Rocky and his adversary parted ways and we were motioned into another room. This room had a huge table with chairs all around and maybe a dozen waiters placing pitchers of water down along with trays of cookies and cakes. A government guy was placing folders down at each place at the table while others were taking their places by the windows._

_ The light lace curtains fluttered as gentle breezes blew in. Sam Giancana took his place at the head of the table and waited for everybody to sit and get adjusted before he spoke._

"Gentlemen" he began, "Before we begin let's get some introductions down. I am Sam Giancana and these two men are Santo Trafficante Jr. and Carlo Gambino. This gentleman is Bill Harvey, our CIA operative here. He's gonna explain this whole operation to you. Bill, the floor is yours."

_Bill Harvey was dressed in the typical black suit that marked a government cop. His hair was brown with grey at the temples and he had the looks of one who had seen too much and knew too much and was at the point of not caring anymore. He was a former FBI agent and the rumor was he got fired by J. Edgar himself for showing up to a meeting drunk. His latest stint was as Operations Chief in Rome, that spot given to him by Bobby Kennedy._

_ He slipped on a pair of black-rimmed glasses and picked up the folder in front of him. In bold black letters "Operation: Mongoose" was written on the front. He held it up for all at the table to see, turning it side to side._

"This was a plan that would get the communists out of Cuba!" he boomed in a loud voice. "It would have secured our southern borders in the Caribbean and got you people your casinos back. It failed! It failed because of one man! It failed because that man lost his nerve! Hundreds of Cuban exiles died on a beach in Cuba and thousands more were captured, tortured, and executed. This was not acceptable then and it is not acceptable now!"

"The man to my left is Jose Aleman, head of the Cuban interest in this new operation. Part of the failure of Mongoose was the fact that Castro knew we were coming long before we got there. Hell, they knew what _day_ it was gonna happen on. They knew because too many people didn't know how to keep their mouths shut. But that isn't going to happen this time, right Aleman?"

_The Cuban nodded his head, not timidly or shamed by what had happened but with the pride and strength of one who would insure that things went more professionally on his end this time around. Harvey instructed everybody to open their folders and the first thing we saw inside was a photograph. An eight by eleven glossy photo of the target._

"This is the man who fucked us in Cuba!" said the CIA operative. "This is our target! John Fitzgerald Kennedy. President of the United States and traitor to that same country."

Yo…lemme tell youse, I was floored by this. These guys wanted to whack the fuckin' president! What the fuck was goin' through their minds? And more important, what did they want from me? No fuckin' way I'm gonna try to ice the president. That's a fuckin' suicide mission y'know. I looked over at Sam and Santo but their faces were blank. Gambino was eatin' a fuckin' cookie like he was listening to some old bitch recite poetry at a fuckin' tea party.

This was some scary shit we was movin' into here. One fuck up and the whole bunch of us could end up as fish food off the coast of Jersey. Maybe for the first time in my life I was fuckin' scared. Unfortunately though, I'm too fuckin' curious for my own good so I sat back and waited to hear this plan…


End file.
